


Touch

by simplesetgo



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-17
Updated: 2010-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-18 12:49:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplesetgo/pseuds/simplesetgo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Confessors were a concept, something to be hated. Takes place after 2x03, "Broken".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

It was the first time their skin touched since Stowecroft.

The cool night air was filled with the sound of crickets chirping in the forest around them; the campfire crackled and sizzled as Zedd and Richard debated the finer points of crushing herbs. Neither gave any outward indication that anything out of the ordinary had happened. After all, Cara passing Kahlan a bowl of rabbit stew was hardly reason for consternation. Yet even as they avoided each other's gaze, both minds immediately started whirling. Cara sat back, locking her eyes on the fire, and was taken back to the days of her early training, when the mantra was first drilled into her mind. _A Confessor's touch is death. Never let a Confessor touch you. A Confessor's touch is death. Never let a Confessor touch you._ The words were puncuated with lashes from a whip and strikes with an Agiel as she was forced to repeat them over and over. The voice of her trainer echoed through the distant recesses of her memory. _Never let a Confessor touch you._

* * * *

 _

The Agiel pressed against her spine at the base of her skull; Cara cried out as every nerve in her body erupted in flame. Excruciating pain blossomed in her head and her neck muscles stood out as her jaw clenched. It wasn't stopping. Her arms strained against the iron shackles suspending her. The stonework in front of her was fading out of focus; had her trainer not held her head up by her hair she would have collapsed like a rag doll. Agony seared and burned through her muscles, it pulsed through her skin and into her bones. Her vision was growing dark; she was on the edge of consciousness when Cara felt the sudden bliss of the absence of pain. Her mind emerged from the haze and she tasted blood in her mouth. She took in a deep breath; her ears were ringing with the echo of her own screams. She felt ashamed. Cara prided herself on her tolerance of pain, but every person had... pressure points. Places where an Agiel would wring a scream of agony from the most stoic Mord-Sith. For some it was the soft flesh of the inner thigh, or under the armpit or knee, or on the small of the back. Cara's trainer had found hers quickly, but didn't use it often.

_

 _A soft voice broke into the sound of ragged breaths echoing against the narrow stone walls. "Why am I hurting you, Cara?"_

 _"So I will remember." Cara forced the words from her raw throat._

 _"What is it that you will remember?"_

 _"A Confessor's touch is death." The Agiel dragged lightly across her back; thick iron chains clanked as Cara stiffened. "I will never let a Confessor touch me."_

 _"Good. The pain you felt is nothing compared to the pain a Mord-Sith feels once confessed. It's very important that you remember this, Cara."_

 _"Yes mistress." She had pulled a muscle in her shoulder straining against the chains; the dull ache was almost a comfort. Silence gripped the chamber for precious few moments, then the Agiel returned to its place on her skull. Cara screamed._

* * * *

She realized her thoughts of Confessors had never really reached past the wrist; they were solely focused on their hands and the destruction and pain they could cause. They were a concept, something to be hated. Kahlan had changed that. She was a human being, not an idea. She was kind, compassionate... and strong. She held a growing respect for the dark-haired figure across the fire. Respect for a Confessor? What was next, friendship?

Cara pushed the thought from her mind with in inward laugh.

* * * *

Kahlan had jumped imperceptibly at the contact. Their forefingers and ring fingers had wrapped around the bowl and overlapped for less than a second, but something made her take pause once the bowl was in her lap. She looked down and twirled her spoon in the stew. Even in their strict policy of mutual avoidance, they had touched — through clothing or leather — plenty of times. A shoulder lightly rubbed in passing, even an arm gripped for support once or twice. Why did she feel like an electric shock had traveled up her arm and was currently residing in the back of her head? She stared at the stew, unblinking, as if the answers were to be found in the circling chunks of vegetables and rabbit.

It occurred to her that she could only think of two times she had touched Cara's skin with her bare hands. Once in the aquifer when they were saving the children from the Mord-Sith — she had seized Cara by the throat and threatened her with death if she was misleading them. The second was in Stowecroft, just days ago, her hand again around Cara's exposed throat. She had come impossibly close to carrying out the most brutal sentence possible for a Mord-Sith. Her plea echoed in Kahlan's mind. _Confess me_. She remembered feeling the slight vibration of her words as her hand tightened around Cara's throat. Her magic lurked beneath her skin, a single thought away from release. _I deserve it_.

A slight gasp escaped Kahlan's throat as she understood what had just happened. Cara had let Kahlan touch her. She was slowly proving, in her own ways, that she was more than her blood red uniform. Her eyes flew to Cara's. The blonde was gazing into the fire; her jaw was clenched and her eyes had a faraway look. Suddenly her eyes flicked to meet Kahlan's and held her gaze with intense emerald. Kahlan's brow furrowed and she took in a light breath, then offered a pursed smile. Cara's face softened and her mouth pulled into what was either a smile or grimace. Kahlan decided to assume the former. Her own smile grew; she ducked her head to hide it and resumed her inspection of the stew.

"Something wrong with it?" Cara asked. Her tone was tired, yet Kahlan thought she detected a teasing aspect.

"No... nothing." She hurriedly took a bite. "Thank you for hunting," she gulped. "The rabbit. S'delicious," she added.

Cara smirked. "One does not hunt rabbit. One catches them." She blinked; the words that followed were much softer than the expression that returned to forced neutrality. "You're welcome."

Kahlan decided the stew really was delicious. As she enjoyed her meal in front of the crackling fire, her gaze flicked occasionally to the brooding blonde. That day on the platform in Stowecroft, she had taken the first step toward forgiving Cara for taking the lives of countless innocents... her sister among them. Despite herself, she wondered if — eventually, against all odds and their years of respective training — she might be able to consider her a friend.


End file.
